


Clean Up On Aisle Five

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Series: Tumblr Fic [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pining Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek pulls the sign down, scowling even more because he can’t even crumple the stupid thing in his hand. Why is this jerk taking the time to even laminate these stupid things? Who even does that? Laura says that he’s over reacting, that the customers at Hale’s Grocery enjoy finding these “Store Tips” scattered around in random places. She says there’s no harm being done. She’s obviously not seeing how frustrating it is to have people playing games with his breadsticks! This is an adult zone! It’s a grocery store, not Chuckie Cheese or something!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Up On Aisle Five

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [tumblr post](http://shiftsideways.tumblr.com/post/124200503124/obviousplant-i-added-some-store-tips-to-a) with all the funny signs being posted around a grocery store. I took almost all of the signs in the fic from that post, I am nowhere near as clever as the OP.
> 
> For [Clara](http://shiftsideways.tumblr.com)
> 
> Not betaed.
> 
> Please do not post on goodreads.

Derek glares at the little, fucking laminated, sign taped onto the plexi-glass case that contains today’s freshly baked breads and pastries.

 

> **STORE TIP**
> 
> Have some fun.
> 
> Pick up a baguette.
> 
> Toss one to a stranger.
> 
> Pretend they’re light sabers and duel it out.
> 
> Right here. Right now.
> 
> ( _bonus tip: call yourself Luke Ryewalker & Naan Solo_)

Derek pulls it down, scowling even more because he can’t even crumple the stupid thing in his hand. Why is this  _jerk_  taking the time to even laminate these stupid things? Who even does that? Laura says that he’s over reacting, that the customers at Hale’s Grocery enjoy finding these “Store Tips” scattered around in random places. She  _says_  there’s no harm being done. She’s obviously not seeing how  _frustrating_  it is to have people playing games with his breadsticks! This is an adult zone! It’s a grocery store, not Chuckie Cheese or something!

 

He stomps back to checkout lane number 2 (of 2), ignoring Erica’s annoying smirk as he shoves the stupid card under the counter, adding to his ever growing collection. It’s a pride thing, really. Derek’s parents own Hale’s Grocery, and he’s been working there since he turned fourteen (well, technically it was before that, but he wasn’t actually paid back then). He’s putting himself through business school (he’ll be a senior in the fall), and has plans to eventually take over running the business from his mom. So it just  _bothers_   _him_  when some ass hat comes in here and starts screwing with things. He doesn’t care if it’s funny. Grocery stores are not supposed to be funny.

“You are such a Debbie downer,” Erica drawls, leaning across her conveyor belt (aka checkout lane number 1) in a way that somehow manages to make her cleavage obnoxiously apparent. And she’s wearing a polo shirt. It shouldn’t be possible. Derek scowls at her, not caring that he’s proving her point.

“It’s just disrespectful,” he grumbles, eyes flicking to the front of the store as the automatic doors slide open. He thinks he might have developed a pavlovian response to the sight of the guy who walks in, his ears already starting to feel hot. He knows who the guy is of course, everyone in Beacon Hills does, the doe eyed, cute yet somehow also sex on legs son of the Sheriff. Derek may or may not have had a crush on him since fifth grade. Which, whatever, he’s dealing with it. No. He’s dealt with it. There have been  _dates_  and even a couple of significant others that have happened since fifth grade. He’s not like, hung up on him or anything.

“Hey Stiles,” Erica coos, batting her eyelashes and using her “sultry” voice that makes Derek’s skin crawl. God. He doesn’t know why he’s friends with such an obnoxious person.

“Erica Reyes,” Stiles reaches for her hand and kisses her knuckles, bowing dramatically. “The queen of my heart and the dairy aisle.” Derek has to rip his gaze away from Stiles’ pert ass, scowling in an attempt to distract from the flush he knows has to be spreading across his cheeks. “And Derek Hale,” Stiles spins to face him, and Derek hurries to arrange his expression into something less suspicious. He suspects that he fails miserably, judging by the way Erica is legitimately biting her hand to keep from laughing. Ugh. She is the  _worst_. “How’s my favorite dictator?” Derek huffs and glares at Stiles.

“I am not a dictator!” He denies, hating that Stiles definitely chose that title on purpose. Because it has the work dick in it. He might have a crush on him, but he has never claimed Stiles Stilinski to be mature. That is a fact.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Stiles trails his hand across the conveyor belt in front of him, long fingers tapping to a beat no one else can hear. Derek  _hates_ those fingers,  _hates_  how they make him think about what they’d look like wrapped around his dick, how they’d feel inside him. “I heard you had to squash another rebellion in the bread aisle.” Stiles smirks up at him through his long lashes, honey eyes sparkling with mischief. Derek feels his left eyelid start to twitch. How does he even  _know_  about that? Erica lets out a giggle, and Derek directs his glare in her direction.

“Really?” He snaps, “What do you do, send out a mass text?”

“I have a blog, actually.” Erica replies with a proud grin, waving her cell phone at him. “If you weren’t such a stick in the mud this would probably be good for business!” There’s a part of Derek that knows she’s probably right. He’s not stupid, they talk about innovation and using technology and engaging the public in school all the time. It’s just that he would prefer to have control over the situation.

“Anyways,” Stiles interrupts, sneakers squeaking on the tiles floor as he spins in place. “I just came by to see what you guys had for baked goods today.” He grins cheekily at Derek. “I’ve got a hankering for breadsticks.” He saunters off before Derek can reply (and okay, Derek  _might_  have been a little distracted by the swing of his hips. He never said he was a saint), leaving him alone with Erica’s general annoyingness.

“You ever gonna cowboy up and ask him out?” She asks, snapping her gum. Derek just glares. Well, he’s basically always glaring at Erica, but he thinks by know she should be able to understand the nuances his glares have. It’s definitely something she should work on. He’s sure Laura can tell the differences, she just ignores him completely. Whatever, he’s got more important things to focus on, like catching this sign poster ass hole.

* * *

> **STORE TIP**
> 
> “Can I spaghetti your number?”
> 
> is a great pickup line! Try
> 
> standing here and shouting it at every girl
> 
> that walks by!
> 
> ( _bonus tip: I heard it works every time on the cashiers)_
> 
> **STORE TIP**
> 
> Stay warm in the freezer
> 
> aisle by rubbing up against
> 
> the other shoppers
> 
> ( _bonus tip: DO NOT try this on the grumpy cashier. HE BITES)_
> 
> **STORE TIP**
> 
> Burn some extra calories
> 
> in line by jumping on the
> 
> conveyor belt and using
> 
> it like a treadmill
> 
> ( _bonus tip: singing and/or dancing could get you a discount)_

Derek has HAD IT with this fucking guy. Or girl. Person. He does not discriminate in determining if someone is an asshole. He has been asked out using the spaghetti line at least twenty times, he’s had three different people try to use the conveyor as a treadmill (one even sang Call Me Maybe), and there’s been incidents of humping going on in the frozen foods aisle. Erica just laughed at him while he stormed around the store, yanking down the little (still laminated) signs. He wishes they had more than just the security camera on the front door, because he is angry enough to sit and watch hours and hours of footage.

Of course, he could probably figure it out just by watching the people that came in if he wasn’t always getting distracted. See, the problem is, that Stiles likes to come in and “shoot the shit” as he likes to say, with Derek and Erica. He works in the bookstore next door, and whenever it gets slow, he comes over to annoy Derek. Or at least, Derek  _acts_  like he’s annoyed. The truth of the matter is, Derek looks forward to seeing Stiles every day, even if he does a lot of glaring and huffing. He’s pretty sure everyone, with the exception of Stiles, sees through his act anyways. Except for today. Today he is  _beyond_  pissed.

“Wow, you’re looking scarier than normal today,” Stiles comments from where he’s perched on Erica’s conveyor belt, the backs of his sneakers banging against the counter.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been asked ‘Can I spaghetti your number?’ today?” Derek practically shouts. “They’re still asking me even though I took it down!” He points menacingly at Erica, because she’s outright  _refusing_  to take the pictures down from her blog. “I am going to… I don’t know, pound this guy when I catch him!” Stiles face does this weird little twitch in response, and then he’s jumping down and kind of scrambling around in a whirlwind of limbs. He high tails it out of the store, flannel shirt flapping, leaving Derek and Erica looking at each other in confusion.

“Maybe he had to get back to work,” Erica says with a shrug, fake smile appearing on her face as a customer starts placing things on the belt.

“Can I spaghetti your number?”

Derek glances over to find a little girl smiling toothily at him, a jar of Prego clasped in her hands. It takes all his internal strength not to bash his head against the register. This Banksy wannabe is going  _down_.

* * *

Derek is not proud of what he’s doing, but it is a necessity, okay? This madness has to end. He doesn’t care how cute and funny everybody thinks it is, he’s had it up to his eyeballs with this nonsense. Which is why he’s tiptoeing back and forth across the back of the store,  _waiting_.

They just opened, and he left Erica at check out, making up an excuse about needing to check inventory. After putting together all the evidence he has gathered over the past couple of weeks, he has determined that the ass hat strikes first thing in the morning, before there’s anyone else in the store. Which is why he’s currently peeking down each aisle, hoping to find this  _criminal_. So far, the bread, canned goods, and freezer aisles have all been empty.

The cereal aisle however, has an occupant. It’s a man, wearing dark wash jeans and familiar looking sneakers. He’s got a sweatshirt on, with the hood pulled over his head, and he’s taping something to one of the shelves. Derek doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he recognizes that  _incredible_  ass, but he’s already got the guy pinned up against the shelves.

“Caught ya,” he growls, dread heavy in his chest as he spins him around. Big doe eyes blink back at him. Derek can feel his ears turning red. Of fucking course it’s Stiles.

“Heyyyyy big guy,” Stiles says shakily, patting at his chest. “Wow, you’ve got great muscle tone. How often do you-” Derek cuts him off by ripping the laminated sign from his fingers, scowling at it.

> **STORE TIP**
> 
> Derek Hale might seem like
> 
> boring old Wheaties
> 
> But he’s the Honey Nut to my Cheerios
> 
> ( _bonus tip: date me?)_

“Stiles…”

“Listen, just um, I’ll stop posting these, and just get out of your hair, I’m really, really sorry. And like, I knew this was a little out there and super annoying and I just don’t know how to flirt so this was me, flirting, but  _obviously_  you don’t feel the same way and now it’s weird and I just-” Derek ducks his head and kisses him. Well, he attempts to kiss him, but it’s actually kind of hard to kiss a talking person, and their noses kind of bump and their teeth clash but it at least shuts Stiles up. “Wait, really?” Okay. So maybe it didn’t actually shut him up, but it stopped whatever  _that_  rambling mess was enough for Derek to nod in response. Stiles grins at him, this big, beautiful thing that makes Derek’s stomach flip. And then Stiles grabs him by the front of his shirt and tugs him into another kiss. This one is much better, all soft and warm and wet, and Stiles moans when Derek presses against him. And those obscene fingers are sliding down Derek’s arms and twisting in his hair and it’s both the best and the worst thing to ever happen to him.

“So um,” Stiles pants as Derek kisses across his jaw and down his neck. “Does this mean you’re saying yes to that date?” Derek can’t help but roll his eyes, continuing to suck what’s probably going to be an impressive hickey into Stiles’ neck.

“Obviously.”

Stiles actually does a victory fist pump. Derek only knows this because Erica got the whole thing on video. He’s pretty sure that’s not even  _legal_ , but she posted it on her blog and know she’s “tumblr famous”. Whatever that means. Derek doesn’t really care, because he’s got his second date with the guy he’s been in love with since fifth grade tonight. So he’s obviously the clear winner here. Even if Stiles has taken to using cereal themed pet names ad nauseam. Like Honey Bunch. And Fruit Loop. And Golden Graham.

He’s just lucky he’s cute.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Feel free to come hang on on [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me!


End file.
